


breathe out so i can breathe you in

by trxshmxuth



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Frottage, M/M, Rimming, arousal from fear, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh welcome to the trash pile, hope u enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 01:09:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12470120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trxshmxuth/pseuds/trxshmxuth
Summary: They've been tiptoeing around each other for months now, walking on ice so thin that Ryan can practically see the sexual tension swirling and raging underneath. Ryan's almost afraid that when the ice finally cracks, he's not going to be able to resurface again.On their next Unsolved investigation, the ice breaks.





	breathe out so i can breathe you in

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by the wonderful  faequill  on tumblr  
> additional revisions suggested by the logical  PRcrazy 

It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before because, if he’s being painfully honest, he has. Often. And he feels like he isn’t as ashamed about it as he should be but he _just can’t help it_. 

He can’t help the way that he feels when Shane looks at him that way he does, like he did when they filmed that stupid fucking video where they had to guess the price of t-shirts and Ryan just tried on the shirt for kicks, because it looked soft and it was the most expensive t-shirt he’d ever actually come into contact with before but—but. The way that Shane _looked_ at him when he came back over, the way his friend’s eyes couldn’t seem to stop wandering, drifting over the exposed expanse of skin of his throat, catching on his collarbones and burning their way down his chest, to where dusky nipples peeked through the thin fabric. And, okay. So he did it on purpose—sue him.

Or the way that Shane’s breath hitched, like it was caught in his throat, ripped from his lungs, when Ryan approached him in the heels for that horrible, terrible, no good video he’d been wrangled into for the day. He hadn’t been hobbling comically the way he did when the cameras were trained on him and he was surrounded by his co-workers, laughing and joking. He had cornered Shane in the small kitchenette at work that evening. He’d strode up to the taller man like he’d walked in heels before, all effortless grace and catlike confidence and, okay, is it really cheating if he _had_ done it before, locked away in the safety of his own home while he tried out this new and thrilling discovery? 

Shane had practically _growled_ out clipped, one-word responses to Ryan’s attempts at starting a conversation and it sent shivers down Ryan’s spine, watching Shane adjust his position _just so_ , just enough that his lower half was hidden behind the island counter that stood between them even while Ryan discussed the more boring things, like the test friends shoot they had to be in early for the next day or what location he was thinking of going to next for unsolved. Ryan couldn’t help but be pleased with himself as he sauntered away, the image of Shane’s white knuckled grip on the edge of the counter and darkened eyes following him home and into his dreams that night.

… Then again, Ryan isn’t the only guilty party in this whole ordeal. He sits at his desk, footage from some haunted place or another open for editing that isn’t getting done on the computer in front of him, and thinks about that morning, when he had quite literally run into Shane in the kitchenette at work and almost caused a coffee travesty to occur.

Shane had manoeuvred at the last moment so that, while Ryan crashed headlong into the taller man’s chest, Shane’s coffee remained ultimately unharmed though a good volume of it sloshed over the sides and onto the floor. At least the mug didn’t smash. Ryan, half-asleep and somewhat disoriented from physically running into Shane could only mumble dazedly, palms splayed on Shane’s chest and feeling the rumble of his soft laughter as he took in Ryan’s expression.

“Hey! Watch where you’re goin’ Bergara. You’re liable to cause a real accident running into people like that,” And Ryan didn’t even have to look to know that Shane had that insufferable smirk on his smug face.

“’S not my fault that we have to be in so early. Ugh,” He retorted blearily, finally taking his hands off of Shane’s chest in an attempt to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. They stood close, pressed together from hips to chest in a way that did _something_ to Ryan’s muddled morning-foggy brain.

Ryan could feel the heavy warmth of Shane’s free hand on the small of his back where it had settled during their initial encounter, presumably in an attempt to keep Ryan from falling backward in his totally unbalanced state. His cheeks flushed and his gaze dropped to the floor where the escaped coffee had met its untimely demise.

“I spilled your coffee,” He pouted distractedly, still not quite at 100% full functionality just yet.

“Well, okay. That’s not quite an apology but I’ll take it. You can refill my tragically empty mug to make up for it.” Shane took a step back and gently pressed the mug into Ryan’s hands, physically curling them around it so the half-asleep Ryan wouldn’t drop it.

“Shut up, Shane.” He mumbled, an automatic response at this point, as he shuffled over to the coffee maker and refilled the mug. He rebelled in his own little way, stealing a sip or two for himself on the way back over to where Shane leaned against the island counter as he watched, arms crossed and smirk firmly in place. Ryan narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like it when Shane had that look on his face.

Rather than wasting any more time than they already had—Ryan had mountains of footage to edit before the end of the day and he had no idea how he was going to get it all done—he pressed the mug into Shane’s hands as he moved past.

Shane’s mouth opened—predictably to make some snarky remark about Ryan not being a morning person—but his phone pinged with an alert and Ryan’s mind was already on the numerous emails he had to send out that day as well.

“Good boy.” Shane’s voice rumbled distractedly behind him.

Ryan stiffened and he could practically feel his brain short-circuit, a shiver running down his spine at the words and _some_ kind of sound trying to claw its way up his throat and past his lips. He slowly turned back toward Shane but the other man had his phone out and seemed preoccupied and—oh my god, did he even know that he’d said that? Ryan swallowed and continued out of the kitchenette, fleeing as he attempted to get his breathing under control.

______

 

So, here they are, skirting around each other and feigning normalcy when all Ryan can think about is Shane’s voice, his mouth, his hips, his cock—and wow, these are not appropriate thoughts for an interview.

They’re in some haunted house, another tragedy-stricken wormhole of ghostly activity and possible demonic presence. They’re sitting at a tiny little card table and across from them the current owner is going on and on about the string of murders and suicides that have occurred over the years. Ryan has just enough respect for the other-worldly to get his thoughts together enough for a professional history reading and initial investigation of the place.

It’s only after the camera crew has left them for the night to the rumbling of thunder in the distance that Ryan’s thoughts begin to slip again. They have to share a bed, because of course they do—it’s just like the Lizzie Borden house all over again, tiny bed and absolutely terrifying atmosphere.

Ryan’s been hearing shit all day, creaks and thumps and whispers in the darkness of the creepy old house. He thought he could do it, he really did, but it turns out his mind is a traitorous little shit and he’s more aroused than scared every time he hears something in the bowels of the house.

Ryan knows that he’s a little fucked up, that the wiring for ‘fear’ and ‘arousal’ somehow got crossed in his brain, and he knows that it’s fucked up because people died in this house but he can’t help the way his body responds to the stimuli around him and he certainly can’t help the way he scoots toward the comforting warmth of Shane’s body every time something goes bump in the night. 

It’s ass o’clock in the morning and Ryan has given up on vlogging through it, resorting to just laying wide awake in the darkness and flinching every time the roll of thunder sounds closer, rumbles deeper in the night around him. Lightning illuminates the room momentarily, causing shadows to leap at him in contrast and Ryan shrieks when thunder peals through the inky blackness that follows, rattling windows and bones. 

“Who—What, christ, Ryan.” Shane’s voice is thick with sleep and even as he shakes, terrified, the timbre of it lights a fire in Ryan’s belly, winding up his chest and coursing through his veins. 

“I—I’m scared,” Ryan admits, disappointed in himself and his overwhelming flight response. 

“C’mere,” Shane pulls Ryan toward him, manoeuvres him so that they’re chest to chest and Shane has one hand on the back of Ryan’s neck and the other searing a mark onto his hip. “I’ve got you.”

Ryan feels safe, content, _warm_. He doesn’t answer Shane’s comforting words, just makes a noise in the back of his throat as their bodies align and he becomes hyper aware of the way that Shane’s hand is rubbing soothing circles on his hip, thumb catching on the edge of his shirt and inching it ever higher. 

Ryan lets out a breathy sigh at the first brush of Shane’s hand on his bare skin and it pulses, electric, where Shane’s hand skims up along his side, ghosting over ribs and coming back down, only to repeat the path again and again.

“Shane…” He isn’t sure what he wants to say, what he think he’s going to say, but whatever the other man hears in his voice must be enough because suddenly that hand is making it’s way, lower and lower, to where Ryan’s hard dick is straining in his jeans. Ryan practically _mewls_ , a filthy sound that Shane’s only heard in pornos, and his hips stutter against Shane’s open palm in an aborted move that makes Shane smile.

“C’mon, baby,” He rumbles, moving his hand back to Ryan’s hip as the smaller of the two begins to rut against him almost mindlessly. “There we go. Feels good, doesn’t it? Let me take care of you.”

“Oh, fuck—I,” Ryan stutters out and buries his face in Shane’s shoulder as he shifts position so he’s grinding against Shane’s hip in earnest, his own hand fumbling at the hardness in Shane’s jeans. He’s practically drooling onto Shane’s shirt but Ryan doesn’t really care with the way that the hand on his hip pulls him impossibly closer every time he grinds against the warmth in front of him. 

He finally gets Shane’s zipper down after what seems like an ungodly amount of time and gets his hand wrapped around Shane’s cock. Ryan frowns through the building haze in his mind and brings his hand to his mouth, drenching it with spit only to return it to Shane’s dick where he starts jacking him in time with his own half-frantic movements.

Noises are spilling out of Ryan’s mouth in a jumble of words and moans and christ, he’s loud.

“I—Jesus, Ryan,” Shane rasps out, a hand laying itself across Ryan’s mouth in an attempt to stifle the noises he’s making. The house they’re investigating is another suburban tragedy, so there are only thin walls and broken windows between them and the neighbours. He moves his hand, trailing it down the column of Ryan’s neck to ghost over his nipples and stomach where it comes to rest on Ryan’s hip. “Shh, sweetheart. Gotta stay quiet alright, baby?”

“Don’t—ah—don’t call me baby.” It comes out breathy and half-hearted as Ryan’s hips shift of their own accord, a high whine escaping his mouth. He buries his face in Shane’s neck and focuses on the way the taller man’s breath hitches when he opens his mouth and tongues at a collarbone, trailing wet and hot up toward Shane’s jaw. His teeth scrape heated skin and Shane moans, low and deep, a tone that makes Ryan’s insides molten with want.

The hand on Ryan’s hip tightens and he knows it’s going to leave marks, relishes in the idea of Shane’s fingerprints on his body, and it tears another hitching whimper out of him. Shane _growls_ and leverages himself up so he’s looming above Ryan.

Their lips meet in a filthy, open-mouthed kiss that catches their hot, panting breaths and leaves a string of saliva glittering between them when they finally break apart. Ryan’s chest is heaving and there’s a high flush on his cheeks and Shane is manhandling him, turning him over onto his stomach as if it’s the easiest thing in thing in the world and Ryan’s cock weeps precome that smears the inside of his jeans.

Ryan makes a high keening sound into the pillow below him and arches his back as Shane’s hands ruck up his shirt and map out his back, caressing muscles and ghosting over the indents of his curved spine. His fingers rest in the dimples on Ryan’s lower back and the smaller man is out of his fucking mind, heady on the promise of sex and he can’t help the breathless moans that are escaping him.

Shane’s busy pulling Ryan’s jeans and underwear off and the rough slide of denim and cloth over the swell of his ass makes Ryan whine. Shane gets Ryan’s pants off in one easy slide and Ryan doesn’t have much time to contemplate the chill in the air before Shane moves in again, body heat radiating off of him and burning Ryan to his core. 

Shane spreads Ryan’s legs, baring his ass and makes a deep, rumbling appreciative noise at the sight. Shane’s heavy hands drag up Ryan’s thighs, coming to rest on his ass as his mouth follows, licking a molten trail up Ryan’s thigh.

“Sha—ah, Shane, I—you, _fuck_ ,” Ryan’s babbling incoherently. Shane nips at the sensitive skin and sucks, intent on leaving a bruise, and Ryan gasps, voice hitching on a high whine.

Shane’s tongue continues its treacherous path upward, sliding along the crease of his ass flat and heavy while his hands spread Ryan open. They both groan when Shane licks an intent stripe across his hole and Ryan _squeals_ when Shane’s tongue finally breaches his body, licking him open with filthy intent and leaving him wanting more. Ryan’s thighs are trembling and every time he chokes out a noise, Shane groans in response, licking impossibly deeper, opening him impossibly wider.

“Shane please, more, god, oh god— _daddy please_ —just like that, oh god, fuck me,” Slips out before Ryan can control his feverish mouth, the words rolling off his tongue before he can think better of it. He freezes, afraid of Shane’s reaction, until he hears Shane _growl_ behind him.

He’s flipped over again and the room barely stops spinning before Shane’s on top of him, mouth on his neck and _oh god_. Ryan mewls again at the sensation of teeth on his throat, bruising hard and so, so good. Shane’s hands are mapping his sides, his stomach, anywhere they can reach, sliding under Ryan’s body to cup his ass and hitch his hips up and into Shane’s. Ryan can’t keep his mouth shut, a startled “Ohh, _fuck_.” slipping its way out of him at the pressure that’s overwhelmingly _everywhere_.

“You like that, baby boy?” Shane rasps out, breath fanning hot against Ryan’s sensitive skin as he repositions himself so he’s on his hands, hovering above Ryan with that goddamn smirk on his stupid smug face and it’s all Ryan can do to just hook a leg around Shane’s backside and _grind_ upward, slow and languid and lithe.

It’s absolutely filthy and a jolt of arousal shoots through Shane’s body so quickly that he almost collapses onto Ryan, arms giving out so he’s forced to rest his weight on his forearms as their hips roll together sinuously. Shane’s face is buried in Ryan’s neck, sucking and licking and _taking_ and Ryan can’t seem to stop babbling, bursts of _’Oh god, jesus, yes—Shane, papi please fuck me fuck me—‘_ escaping him between gasps and moans at the feeling of Shane’s rough denim jeans sparking nerves under his hyper-sensitive skin.

Shane abruptly breaks away, disentangling himself from Ryan to stand at the edge of the bed and he strips quickly, shooting a glance at Ryan that has him pulling his own bunched-up shirt off the rest of the way. Shane turns around to switch off the night camera that Ryan completely forgot about—god, editing this bit is going to be interesting—and momentarily rustles around in one of the overnight bags. As soon as Ryan lays back down he’s got one hand on his dick, the other trailing fingers down toward his hole where Shane’s spit has long since dried. He presses a finger against his rim and arches up off the bed, eyes fluttering closed.

When Ryan opens his eyes again Shane is watching him hungrily, lube slick on two of his fingers. Ryan doesn’t even have time to wonder where Shane had gotten the lube from, let alone _why_ he seemed not only prepared but also like he was _expecting_ something like this to happen—and honestly Ryan would be affronted if he could think past the cloud of _'god, please, fuck me papi'_ —before Shane slides a finger into him and Ryan’s legs open wider, accommodating for Shane’s bulk between them

He keens as Shane works his finger in and out in a slow, measured pace that has Ryan whining for more. Shane adds a second finger and crooks them _just so_ and Ryan cries out, seeing stars and arching his back into a delicious curve that has Shane practically salivating.

He begins scissoring his fingers, stretching Ryan in earnest and he’s dragging beautiful sounds out of the shorter man with every thrust, every twist of his fingers. Shane’s so hard that it almost fucking _hurts_ and he’s drowning in arousal as he watches Ryan bow and writhe, all sinuous muscle and golden skin. Shane’s so fuckin whipped and it’s _amazing_.

Shane adds a third finger and Ryan’s been reduced to a puddle, a tremulous staccato of breathy moans and shaking thighs that make Shane want to dive in and taste his musk again. He could eat Ryan out for hours, turn him into a desperate, quivering mess. Instead, Shane crooks his fingers again and draws out a keening cry from Ryan.

Shane withdraws his fingers, earning a confused whine from Ryan and he spreads the excess slick onto his dick. He lines himself up, sinking slowly into Ryan’s wet heat and it’s, god, it’s fucking perfect. Ryan makes a noise between a moan and a whine and Shane muffles his noises with a searing kiss, tonguing into Ryan’s mouth and swallowing his cries. It’s so fucking _difficult_ , to keep himself from immediately rolling his hips and setting a brutal pace.

He breaks the kiss, slips, shifts too quick and Ryan winces. Shane doesn’t miss the expression, immediately stilling.

“You doin’ okay, baby boy? Want me to stop?”

Ryan shakes his head “Jus—just go slow, papi please.”

Shane drops his head to Ryan’s shoulder and groans. “You’re gonna be the death of me, baby.” 

He begins to move again, slow and careful, listening intently to Ryan’s uneven breathing. Ryan gets used to the feeling quickly and decides Shane isn’t moving fast enough for him so he fucks himself back on Shane’s cock and smiles smugly in response to the sharp gasping moan that his movement elicits.

Shane growls, though, and snaps his hips forward in a sinful, brutal motion that has Ryan crying out and he picks up a relentless pace. The bed is creaking and it’s pouring rain outside and there are probably ghosts watching them have sex or something and the neighbours, who all have their windows open in the heat of the summer storm, can definitely hear his cries but Ryan can’t bring himself to care, can barely string together a coherent thought as it is. He curls his toes and practically _howls_.

“Oh, god yes, Shane—please, please, oh _papi_ —harder, oh my god, Shane—” Words are tumbling out of Ryan’s mouth like prayers and falling into the space between them as Shane angles his hips _just so_. Ryan arches up against him, their bodies sweat slick together in the heat they’ve created and he opens his mouth in a wordless cry. 

Shane manages to get a hand between them and pumps Ryan’s cock in time with his own thrusts, sending Ryan over the edge completely. Come splatters between them and slicks across their stomachs as Shane thrusts a few more times before reaching his own orgasm. Ryan practically mewls at the feeling of Shane’s hot come inside him and his own drying tacky where it’s been smeared between them. Shane rides out the aftershocks—”God, baby boy, so beautiful for me, fuck, so perfect”—and buries his face in Ryan’s neck. He takes a moment to breathe as his head clears. 

______

Shane cleans them up using his abandoned flannel and they don’t talk about it the next morning.

They don’t talk about it on the way back to LA and they don’t talk about it while Ryan’s editing the footage from that night and turns bright crimson at the computer. They don't talk about how he's suddenly incredibly grateful that he and Shane are the only people left in the office this late in the day because they’re supposed to do a Q & A livestream in twenty minutes. Ryan is ludicrously relieved that he thought to edit the footage on his own personal laptop. Shane is insufferably smug for the rest of the week.

They do, however, continue antagonizing each other. Their banter is more charged than usual and the only thing that Ryan can think about is what Shane’s going to do with him behind the next set of closed doors. What he’s going to do to him at the next location, or the one after that. It’s enough to make Ryan itch with anticipation and ache for the open road, where they’re allowed leave who they are behind and become different people.

He notices Shane’s eyes watching him hungrily and shivers with anticipation as he finishes packing the equipment for the next unsolved shoot. He’s ready, come what may, and he’s _aching_ for it.

**Author's Note:**

> -taylor swift voice-  
> look what you made me do
> 
> revised: 24/10/2017


End file.
